Our Italian Summer

by Jennifer Probst

  On cue, my phone vibrated, but this time it wasn’t work, and I picked up without a pause. “Hey. I’m here with Mom.”

  “How’s she doing?”

  “Better. She’s feisty and doesn’t want to talk about her poop.”

  “Francesca!” she screeched. “Who are you talking to?”

  “Just Enzo. Here, say hello.” I pressed the phone to her ear, laughing at her red cheeks.

  “I’m going to kill my daughter,” she gritted out. “When am I going to see you?”

  She nodded, and I enjoyed watching them have a little chat before I pulled the phone back. “When are you coming to see me?” I asked.

  His laugh was low and sexy, and my whole body sighed with longing. “Christmas, just like we spoke about. I can stay for two weeks if you can stand me.”

  “I’m sure I can put up with you.”

  “Good. Did you get the Ackerman account?”

  “Not yet, but I’m close. I’m about to dazzle him with an Instagram video to increase his followers and get his views up.”

  “Did Allegra have her race Thursday? Or was it canceled for rain? She never texted me back.”

  “No, it rained, and she didn’t text you back because her phone dropped and shattered, and we spent half a day at Verizon getting her a new one. I’m sure she’ll text tonight.”

  “Good. I had lunch with my sisters today and they’re driving me crazy. They want to FaceTime you, but I’m afraid if you agree, you’ll never take my calls again. My family is nuts.”

  “I’d love that, been dying to meet them. And I happen to love nuts.”

  “Thank God. I’ll let you go spend time with your mama. Love you, cara.”

  Goose bumps shivered on my skin. “Love you too,” I said softly.

  When I clicked off, Mom was grinning with pride. I groaned. “Don’t say it,” I grumbled. “I sound ridiculous. Cheesy. Pathetic.”

  “No, sweetheart. You sound like you’re in love. I’m so happy you decided to pursue this with Enzo.”

  “Me too. I miss him, but I feel good about us. We decided to take it slow and see what works and what doesn’t.”

  My words were casual, but inside, I knew he was worth fighting for. He called on a regular basis and was interested in the day-to-day routine, from my work to gossip to what I was watching on TV. He loved chatting with Allegra and keeping abreast of her athletic meets and schoolwork. We FaceTimed and texted. Even from a distance, I felt close to him, as if our hearts had already recognized each other and didn’t want to let go.

  “I’m glad—you deserve to be happy and I adore Enzo. How are you feeling? Any further panic attacks?”

  “Not lately. But I’m more aware of my triggers, so maybe that helps.” I always felt like the monster was close, ready to leap from the darkness and slam my body into crippling anxiety. But just knowing I could control my breathing and get through it soothed me a bit. I’d also been trying some meditation in the morning to calm my mind.

  We chatted some more, and a delivery person popped in with a beautiful bouquet of mixed roses. Figuring it was one of Mom’s many church friends, I watched her read the card and do something I hadn’t seen before.

  Blush.

  “Mom, who are the flowers from?” I asked.

  She turned even pinker, her laugh a touch guilty. “Oh, just someone I met in Italy.”

  I tilted my head. “Who? Someone from the tour?”

  “No, a man I met in Venice.” Her eyes gleamed with a spark of excitement. “I’m thinking of joining him on a tour through Paris. He said the group was extremely nice and they catered to senior citizens.”

  My jaw dropped. “Are you kidding? You can’t go off to Paris! You need healing and rest. How come you never told me about this?”

  “Oh, Frannie, don’t be silly, it’s nothing. It wouldn’t be until next year anyway, and I’m only considering it. There’s no need to make a fuss.”

  I noticed she gave the roses an appreciative sniff and put them right in her eyeline so they’d be easy to view. “Can I at least know his name?”

  She gave a very motherly sigh. “Milton. Now, let’s change the subject before the nurse comes in for her rounds.”

  I did but made a mental note to steal the card and see what Milton had said to my mother.

  When I left, we’d made arrangements for her to leave the next day, if she did her business like the nurses demanded.

  I hummed under my breath as I got to my car and headed back to work.

  It just happened to be Dean Martin.

  He was a classic for a reason.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Allegra

  I was so caught up in Mr. Sanderson’s lecture, I didn’t even hear the bell until the students around me began shutting their Chromebooks. “Quiz on Monday,” he shouted over the chaos. “We’ll finish up our medieval segment and move on to the Renaissance period. Get ready for nudity, people, and if there are any juvenile snickers, I’ll send you to the principal.”

  I laughed along with the girl beside me and we shared a glance. She was pretty quiet but seemed just as into the history of art class as I was. Too many students said they’d picked it for an easy A, but I couldn’t wait to begin delving deeper.

  “He’s pretty funny,” she said. She wore her dark hair caught up in a casual ponytail, and her black-framed glasses gave her a cool, artsy look. “Personally, my dream is to see the statue David in person. I heard it’s bigger than you think—all parts.”

  Her wink made me grin. “Actually, I got to see it this summer. I went to Italy.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “Shut. Up. That’s the coolest vacay ever. I got stuck at Sesame Place for my younger sister. Am I right? Is it epic?”

  I nodded, the memory sparking something warm inside. “Yeah, it was. And it was really big, and under this amazing golden spotlight so you got to spend as much time as you wanted studying it. The Pietà was behind glass but still pretty cool.”

  She shook her head and stuck her papers and Chromebook in her backpack. “I’m so jealous. Hey, do you paint too, or do you just appreciate art?”

  I laughed again. There was something about her that gave off an easy vibe but felt real. I’d backed off from Bonnie and Claire this year, not able to take the fakeness anymore. They couldn’t believe I was taking an elective instead of getting out of school early, and they bitched nonstop about their boring summer. I was pretty much over both of them. “I never really tried to paint,” I said. “Do you?”

  “I try, even though I suck. But it’s fun. My friend Tracey and I are doing an art class on Saturday mornings—the new workshops start next week.” She hesitated, glancing at me with a bit of wariness, like she was afraid I’d suddenly mock her. “You can join us, if you want. Tracey’s really cool. Afterward, we can go for lunch at the café—I’m a vegetarian and they have some really good stuff. If you want. Oh crap, my name’s Brianna, by the way. In case you didn’t know.”

  Normally, I’d be nice but make up some excuse. It was easier to stay in my comfort zone. “Yeah, I’d love it,” I said. “My name’s Allegra.”

  “I’ve seen you around school but I don’t think we were in any classes together.” She grabbed her phone. “What’s your number? I can text you the info.”

  I recited it and she plugged it in. We left each other with a promise to chat, and I enjoyed the hum of excitement when I thought of taking an art class with her. The thought of something new and challenging made me think of this past summer, and I decided to walk instead of take the bus. It seemed to be an afternoon to linger with my thoughts.

  I hadn’t gone too far off school grounds when I recognized a familiar figure coming toward me. I squinted, then realized it was David. I watched him draw closer, preparing myself for that familiar flare of nerves and anticipation. But when he finally stopp
ed inches away, I realized that sharp reaction had dulled.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey. How are you?”

  He shifted his weight and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I’m cool. Freda ended up having to transfer this year, so she’s not around. And Connor got into this new crowd so we haven’t been hanging out as much.” His gaze raked over me. “You look good.”

  “Thanks, so do you.” He did. He’d cut his wild hair and now it was a bit spiky, making him look less surly, which probably translated to sexy for some girls. He gave off the same chill vibe but didn’t seem as distant as before. Today, he seemed to be really looking at me. “I like your hair like that.”

  “Oh yeah, I got a gig and they asked me to clean up a bit. You never called me back when you got home from Italy.”

  I winced. It had been awkward. He’d texted a few times, but I didn’t know what to say. I kept thinking about Ian, and how David with his weed habit and lifestyle made me feel uncomfortable. I wasn’t really wild and rebellious at all. I was still just a nerd. And I liked it. I didn’t want to be smoking pot and hanging out late at night. I finally felt interested in parts of my life that had once been flat. “Sorry. My mom wasn’t cool with me hanging out with you after the incident.”

  “Yeah, I figured. Parents are always trying to cut out our freedom. We gotta be brave and do us.”

  I nodded, taking a step back. “Yeah, but the thing is, I kind of understand where she’s coming from. I didn’t really like smoking anyway.”

  “No shit? I hope you didn’t think we made you. That’s not cool.”

  I shook my head. “No, it was my choice. I don’t blame anyone. I just realized it wasn’t me.”

  He nodded slowly, a slight smile on his lips. “I get it. I’m not really into it anymore either. It’s expensive and I’d rather spend my money on doing my music.”

  He’d sent me a video of a song he’d written, and I was surprised at his talent. His voice was deep and husky and kind of lush. The lyrics were smart too. “You’re really good, David. I know it’s hard to break in, but you have something important to say. One day, the world will listen.”

  He jerked back, then narrowed his gaze. “You think?”

  I shrugged. “I hope. It’s going to be a long road if music is your passion. That’s half the battle.” I thought of Ian’s words and a wave of pain hit me. He’d written me over the past two months, little postcards with a few words scrawled; crisp stationery with Michelangelo’s David stenciled on the front, his words in a looping scrawl that was elegant and neat; and plain notebook paper with a few lines of poetry he’d read. As much as hearing from him hurt, it also soothed me, knowing he was somewhere out there going after what he believed in, thinking of me.

  David shifted his feet. “So, I know you’re crazy busy and all, but I wondered if you wanted to go out with me. Get something to eat. A movie. Or just hang and talk somewhere.”

  I stared at him for a while, wondering how I felt. I didn’t know yet. But something had changed, and I was curious to find out who he really was, away from his group of friends, under the defensiveness I sensed prickling beneath.

  “We can do that,” I said slowly. “Friday night?”

  “Yeah, perfect. I’m glad you had a good time in Italy. We ended up cutting our trip short anyway—it was a disaster. Freda and Connor went crazy, and I ended up losing one of the gigs.”

  I laughed, thinking of her flashing her boobs for the camera. “I figured. Gotta go. See you later.”

  “Yeah, see ya.”

  I headed home, a smile on my lips. I had no idea what would happen, but I was open to getting to know David better—on my terms. Mom had called and said Nonni was being released tomorrow, so I could finally stop worrying about her. And I was starting volunteer work at the food pantry. I had spoken with the director about my concerns over the food, and he’d given me a list of what they’d need for donations if I could find any willing sponsors.

  I’d hit about six places so far and signed up a local farm to provide fresh eggs and baskets of fruit and vegetables. They were excited to work with the community, and I had an idea it was only the beginning. Even Mom decided to join me, expressing interest in how not-for-profits worked and how to get clean food to people who need it. She called me a clever businessperson, and though I groaned inside, it felt good to know she was proud.

  I had big plans.

  Later that night, I stared out my window at the full moon and thought of Ian. Thought of our trip, and how Enzo was coming for Christmas, and the way Mom came home for dinner now and seemed happy.

  I knew there were a lot of obstacles ahead. Fights, anger, pain, sadness. I felt them so deeply sometimes, I wondered if I’d ever be able to be like my mother and look at the world with a sense of control. It was like I’d become a big open wound, but Italy had taught me not to be scared of it. I didn’t want a narrow, closed-off life.

  Because there were adventures waiting around every corner.

  And I couldn’t wait to find out what came next.

  NOTE TO READER

  I’d like to share a story with you.

  My mother’s dream had always been to visit Italy, where her parents were born. But we’d never had the money or opportunity in our family, so we tucked that dream aside for a long, long time.

  But one day, we made a decision that changed all of us. I decided I wanted to take her to Italy for her seventieth birthday, along with my niece, who was turning sixteen, and my godmother, my mother’s sister. All of us left our lives behind for a glorious fourteen days to experience our homeland and embark on an adventure. With the men taking care of the kids at home, we were free to just be us and bond together.

  It was the trip of a lifetime. We celebrated my mother’s birthday in Tuscany, under a full moon, in a vineyard. We danced and drank wine and ate pasta. We talked. We learned about each other. We became close with our tour group members and forged friendships that revolved around an amazing shared experience.

  As we made our way from Rome to Capri to Siena, I outlined a story about three generations of women who are lost . . . and come to Italy to find themselves and one another.

  During the trip, I realized the deep complications and layers in female relationships, especially mothers and daughters. I heard my grandmother’s voice whisper to me as I stood on a hilltop overlooking Napoli. I saw the growth in my niece with every piece of art she studied and each glorious church she was lucky enough to enter. I relished the stories from my aunt about her experiences as a career woman and her decision not to have children and the big life she’d embarked on that might be different from what society deems we should do.

  We came home changed. And I knew this book would be written one day, containing many of our adventures and discoveries.

  There is a bit of truth twisted up with a lot of fiction. Someone may have fallen down the Spanish Steps. There may have been a frantic chase through the deserted parks of Rome by an angry mob. There may have been overenthusiastic pigeons in Venice.

  Or maybe not.

  Either way, the emotions are all real. I hope you enjoyed the Ferrari women and saw a bit of yourself in their journey. I hope the power of forgiveness and healing and second chances resonates the way I wished it would. And family, of course.

  Always family.

  Thank you, dear readers, for trusting me enough to come along for the ride.

  —Jen

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  There are so many people to thank. I’ve said many times that a writer may create the story, but it is a savvy team who helps bring it out to the world in the best possible way.

  First, to the amazing Berkley team. My editor, Kerry Donovan, thank you for believing in this story when many didn’t. You allowed me to accomplish a dream I’ve had for a while, and I’m forever grateful. Thanks to Mary Geren, to Eile
en Chetti for the copyedits, and to a top-notch marketing and publicity team—I’m forever grateful to Jessica Mangicaro, Tara O’Connor, and Craig Burke. To Jeanne-Marie Hudson and Claire Zion, it’s been a true pleasure to be able to work with you on this book.

  To my agent, Kevan Lyon, who is always at my side—I’m so lucky to have you!

  To my assistant, Mandy Lawler, who pushed me hard this year to bump up my branding game and keeps things smoothly running in the background—thank you.

  To Nina Grinstead at Valentine PR for helping me with ALL the things behind the curtain that build a successful release.

  And, as always, to my readers. Thank you for following me everywhere over the years, to wherever my Muse carries me.

  You all rock.

  QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

  1. When we first meet Francesca, we discover she seems to prioritize work over family. Did you feel sympathetic or critical toward her character and her responsibilities? Did she inspire any empathy for her situation, or did you believe she could have made better choices?

  2. The three main characters—Francesca, Allegra, and Sophia—all have individual struggles within the family. Were you able to relate to one of them better than the others? Why?

  3. Do you think it was wrong for Sophia to decide to keep her health problems to herself and not share them with her daughter?

  4. Italy plays an important role in Our Italian Summer. As the characters travel, they begin to find out more about themselves. Did you have a favorite town/setting you loved the most? Why? What was it about the scene that resonated with you?

  5. The relationship between Enzo and Francesca grows gradually throughout the book. What kind of future do you envision for them?

  6. Allegra struggles with her resentment of Francesca’s workaholic tendencies and with not feeling seen by her mother. Many of us may experience guilt over our work and careers, and trying to find balance between work and homelife. Discuss the mother-daughter roles represented and the character with whom you identified most closely and why.